


Dress You Up

by fangirlSevera



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: 1980s, Drag Queens, Humor, M/M, Romance, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlSevera/pseuds/fangirlSevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1986. The Iron Curtain is firmly in place and the two youngest Kingsmen are needed to go undercover in a gay club to place a tracker on a Soviet arms dealer. At their handler's suggestion, one of them dons drag to blend in.</p><p>Except Merlin gets a lot of attention and Harry's never been very good at being a properly repressed English gentleman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress You Up

**Author's Note:**

> Time setting: 1986, putting Harry and Merlin in their early to mid 20s. Merlin's been a Kingsman for roughly a year.
> 
> Title from Madonna song of the same name.

Merlin arrived at Harry's door with a garment bag slung over one shoulder. In his other hand was a shoe box. His face was a picture of determination, jaw clenched, eyes boring into Harry's as if in a dare.

Harry immediately dropped the smirk from his face, realizing it could be misconstrued as mockery instead of the expression of genuine, pleased excitement that it was. "Please, come in." He stepped aside, holding the door open.

Merlin took his suspicious gaze off Harry to take in his surroundings, eyes taking in every window and corner of the room as he stepped into it. Apparently satisfied with the security of his location, his shoulders lost some of their stiffness, his jaw loosened, only minutely, and only visible to Harry because he happened to be giving the strong lines of that jaw careful consideration.

"You wouldn't happen to have a kettle on, would you?" Merlin asked, turning back to Harry, having lost his defensive expression.

Harry allowed his smile to return. "What kind of host would I be if I didn't?"

Harry had not worked with the younger agent often. He mostly was only trotted out to the field for handling on-sight technological needs. Although his knack for computers was his most highly prized skill (now that Arthur had finally gotten his head out of his arse about the oncoming digital age and stopped obsessing over microdots under fingernails), Merlin's range scores were incredibly impressive, a crack shot. Nor was he a slouch in hand to hand sparring.

A less self-assured sort of man would be jealous or threatened by so much well-rounded competence.

All the same, Harry had been surprised when he was called into a mission briefing to find Merlin sitting across the table from Gawain. The older agent gestured for him to sit and slid a folder across the table to him.

"Anton Vyhovsky. The name has come up quite frequently in the past couple of months," Gawain began. Inside the folder was information on several militant groups Kingsman had recently taken down. "He appears to be supplying weapons to both sides of the curtain, and even rival factions within their own borders. We have no photo, just a name, and the tittle-tattle that when he is in London, he is likely to recreate at a _certain_ club in Soho."

Harry nodded in sudden understanding. "And that's where we come in. Are we talking honey trap?"

Gawain shook his head. "Only the mildest form. Get close enough to interact, some publicly accepted touching that will allow you to plant a tracker on him."

"You're not seriously expecting the man to wear the same jacket to a club and then to meet with buyers the next day."

"He means the prototype," Merlin said. "Clear, waterproof, adheres to skin. We should be able to track him to his meetings with buyers for weeks, and therefore identify more threats to national and global security."

"The prototype, yours?"

"I may have designed the circuitry."

"And he's modest," Harry smirked.

Gawain tapped the table, drawing their attention away from each other. "Intel says he'll be in London to finalize a new deal this weekend. The two of you will be at the club to get the positive ID and plant the tracker. You'll have to interact with staff and regular patrons to hopefully make a positive of our man." Gawain paused and cleared his throat. "Places like these aren't unfamiliar to having people like Vice come sniffing around. If they even get a whiff of official investigation, they'll clam up tighter than a nun in a dildo factory. Young faces are less threatening. And if you can display real commitment and immersion in the culture, that'd help to."

Harry snorted softly to himself. He was sure having already been a patron to similar clubs in his own time already counted as immersion. "Are you suggesting we sit in each other's laps and snog all night?"

The senior agent raised an unamused brow. "If you truly think that'd help. One of you could dress in drag even. Police and feds are usually far too butch and insecure to entertain the idea. And if I'm allowed an objective opinion, I think Merlin could pull it off better."

"I think I've been insulted," Harry pouted. "Don't you think I'm pretty?"

"It's the cheekbones," Gawain clarified.

Harry looked askance at Merlin who had yet to voice his opinion on the matter. He kept up a very professional face, except for the slight pinking to his cheeks. And perhaps Gawain had a point... "And Merlin has those sweet doe eyes."

His glare was quite impressive to, at least the one he shot at Harry was. "Whatever you think best to accomplish the mission, sir." Merlin said.

That Merlin ended up being on-board with the drag option, and not the constant snogging one, had sent a twinge of disappointment through Harry.

Gawain had given them permission to prep for the mission off base. It would have been too conspicuous for them to be exiting a tailor's shop, especially Merlin. Not that any of Harry's neighbors wouldn't raise an eyebrow or two if they were spotted while leaving his residence. But if that lead to them furthering ignoring him, that wasn't so bad a bonus.

"Are you sure you don't want something more bracing?" Harry asked, after giving Merlin a steaming cup of tea.

"Never before a mission. Only after. Either in celebration or commiseration." He lifted his mug in a quick salute and took a large drink.

That was when a small mop of hair came bounding into the room, He bounced around Merlin's feet, barking at the stranger.

"Mr Pickle, down!" Harry admonished. His dog immediately sat still, but growled softly up at Merlin.

"Is he...your dog?" Merlin asked, forehead creasing, looking down at the animal.

Harry easily recognized what exactly the question meant. "Yes, he is," he said proudly.

"You _chose_ that dog?"

Harry bristled, remembering the snide jeers and snickers of his fellow candidates. Well, fuck them, none of them actually became knights in the end, did they? "And I suppose yours is a pure Gordon Setter because nothing's more important than _breeding_ and being properly British," he snapped.

Merlin's face colored, but not in offense. "She is actually. And I chose her because she was the only other Scot around." Merlin offered a hand for Mr Pickle to sniff.

Harry immediately felt like an arse. "What's her name?"

Merlin smiled. "Oda. The name of Scottish saint, said to have been very beautiful."

"Aren't they all?" Harry quipped.

Having the ice broken, then being dunked into the cold water, only to finally emerge on friendly shores, Harry was sure the rest of the night was going to be much easier. He showed Merlin to a rarely used guest room with an en-suite bath where Merlin could change. Harry waited, making himself comfortable on the bed, running through mission scenarios in his head.

Merlin came out of the bathroom in black leggings that had been artfully torn at the knees and a bright green tulle skirt. The black, strapless bustier was wrapped around his middle, but he had an arm bent at his back, holding it up with one hand. It took all of Harry's well-learned stoicism from both his parents and training to keep his face neutral at the sight Merlin was making.

Kingsman had been offering womenswear out of necessity since the 1950s when the first female knight had been confirmed. But requesting the tailors to work their bullet-proof fabrics into something that a pop singer might have worn... Well, the entire shop looked like they had been sucking lemons when they were given the order.

"I need some help with this."

Merlin turned his back to Harry. And goodness, that was a fine set of smooth, broad shoulders right there. Harry stamped down on the unprofessional observation. He concentrated on pulling the little hooks into the equally small eyes one by one, all dozen of them. When he stepped back, his hands, completely on their own accord, settled on dip of the newly cinched waist. "Not too tight, is it?"

Merlin tried a bit of stretching and bending, then took a deep breath. "Well, at least I can breathe. Just don't expect me to be able to do a backbend." He turned around and crossed his arms. "Go on then."

"What?"

"I'm sure you're dying to make some kind of lewd joke or insinuation about me doing this, how I look right now. You haven't yet. So I assumed you've been saving it up. I'd rather you get it over with."

Harry took a moment to be offended at Merlin's assumption. As if he was no better than some schoolyard bully. But then he remembered that even among their own cohorts, open-mindedness about certain social mores was the exception, not the norm. "Well, yes, it's true that seeing you in something far removed for your usual wardrobe is a touch uncanny. But I also think it admirable that you're willing to push yourself outside your comfort zone for the good of the cause."

Merlin's defensive stance deflated. He dropped his arms. "Oh. I- Thank you." He cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose we ought to continue on to the next phase."

The next phase was makeup. Harry led Merlin to his office where a mirror, an assortment of bottles, powders and brushes on the desk held Merlin's interest more than the half a dozen newspaper pages he had pinned to the walls. He sat Merlin down in the chair, his skirt rustling as he fit it between the arms. "Close your eyes and think of England," Harry advised, picking up a bottle of concealer and a white a sponge.

Merlin, in a display of trust, did close his eyes. But presumably let his thoughts wander more towards the Highlands than anywhere else.

"We're going to have to do something about your eyebrows," Harry mentioned casually, completely the first layer of makeup.

"How do you mean?" Merlin asked, daring to squint one eye open.

"They are bit like dark caterpillars with rigor mortis. We'll probably have to shave them."

"Like hell you are!" Merlin pushed back, rolling out of Harry's reach, hitting the opposite wall. "I've sacrificed enough of my body hair today already, thank you!"

Harry laughed. He dug around a desk drawer and took out a Pritt stick. "Actually, I'll just need this." Merlin still kept to the corner of the room. "It'll help flatten them down so I can just put makeup over them."

Cautiously, Merlin scooted back over to the desk.

Gawain had been right: Merlin's bone structure did lend itself to taking makeup well, and Harry didn't have to labor too much in softening and "feminizing" his features, even with that sharp beak of a nose.

"How do you know how to do all this?" Merlin asked, his eyes closed again as Harry painted on the vibrant eyeshadow colors that were currently in fashion.

"I was in the theatre department at my all-boys school. All our productions were very 16th century. Faking cleavage was my specialty. It's all about creating shadows."

"I can't imagine you staying behind the scenes of anything. You must have performed as well?"

Harry picked up a dark pencil. "Since you ask, I'll have you know I made quite a stunning Queen Titania. Don't roll your eyes when I'm trying to give you wing tips!"

Finished with the face, Harry grabbed the wig one of the girls in undercover wardrobe had prepared for them. At Harry's request it was a bright ginger shade, fitting with his partner's brogue. It was crimped and brushed all to one side, the fringe teased up into spikes. Harry fitted and clipped it into place with some disgruntled muttering from Merlin. Harry took a step back to take in the overall look.

Merlin was looking a lot like Cyndi Lauper. Harry spun the chair around to let him have his first good look at himself in the mirror.

Merlin's meticulously made-up face scrunched into a frown. "I'm not at all convincing."

"The point of drag is not necessarily about passing as a woman, but being and feeling glamorous." Merlin still did not look convinced. "Come on, let’s give you some breasts and see how you feel after."

Harry proceeded to use varying flesh tone colors and brushes, creating curved lines above where the bustier had already pushed and squeezed Merlin's pecs up. Occasionally he had to use his hands to blend the make up into more natural looking shades. He couldn't help but notice the way Merlin's muscles twitched when Harry touched his bare chest (and tried not to imagine said hands and chest touching in a completely different scenario).

"Very nice," Harry said, straightening up after brushing away the excess powder.

"I believe I should be telling you my eyes are up here."

"Just admiring my handiwork. Shoes next." Harry crouched down to help squeeze Merlin's feet into a pair of bright, red, strappy shoes. He had to put a hand around a firm calf as he did so, and kept himself from exploring those legs further by knowing he was in the prime position to receive a kick to the face.

Slowly, Merlin rose from the chair. Any other time, Harry and Merlin were approximately the same height. But in those five-inch heels, Merlin towered over him like a glam-rock Amazon. Merlin took one smell step, than another, until he was walking the length of the room without the slightest wobble.

"Have you been practicing?"

Merlin nodded. "Of course. Had to get used to the way they pinch. I can't believe some people put themselves through this voluntarily."

Harry looked at his watch. "I'll leave you to accessorize. I have to finish getting dressed myself." Which was a much more familiar process than what Merlin had to go through. He did leave off the tie, though. A couple undone buttons at his throat would do a better job of looking more like a young queer out for a good time, and less like a closeted banker ducking into a club quickly before his wife found out.

He slid his glasses on and went back to the office. Merlin had decked himself out with layers of plastic necklaces around his neck, chunky bracelets on his wrists, and even fingerless lace gloves over his hands. His outfit was topped off with a short denim jacket, covered in rows of rhinestones across the chest. Merlin's personal fashion sense must have been screaming in agony at the excess.

Harry's watch beeped. "Showtime!" He told Merlin, and pressed a small button near the hinge on his glasses, activating the live feed. He turned to make sure he was looking right at Merlin. "What do you think, sir?"

"You'll be the belle of the ball," Gawain declared.

"Thank you, sir." Merlin fidgeted with the long, dangly earrings clipped to his lobes and where his comms were hidden.

"Galahad, why aren't you wearing a tie?" Gawain asked, confirming that the camera in one of the rhinestones on Merlin's jacket was also functioning.

The adjusted technology in the accessories was all Merlin's own doing. He had spent hours bent over a work bench, prodding at several pieces of cheap, gaudy jewelry with all the concentration of a jeweler examining the Imperial State Crown. Watching him at it may have been when Harry's admiration for their newest recruit had become actual fondness.

Which, along with the way Harry's body had been reacting being close to Merlin, was starting to become a touch troublesome.

====

It was a Saturday night and the club was well attended. Entering, they were immediately hit by a wall of sound: a Billy Idol song blasting from speakers, patrons shouting to each other to hold a conversation over the music. The dance floor was lit both from above and below by flashing, colorful lights, a mirror ball spun lazily above the press of mostly all-male bodies.

A hand on Merlin's elbow, Harry led them away from the dance floor to the tables closer to the bar where the noise eased only infinitesimally. Like all the other patrons and staff, Harry dutifully ignored the booths tucked away in the darkest corners where the more obscene displays of affection were being carried out. Gawain initially berated him for not being thorough. But Harry easily convinced him that unless they are given absolute reason to believe their target was in that area, it was best for everyone involved to not pry.

It was pure instinct for Harry to pull out a chair for Merlin who gave him an amused sideways glance, but didn't comment. Merlin took the seat and fluffed his skirt out around him, crossing his long legs at the knees. Despite the outlandish outfit, he was looking very prim. Harry hoped he could have access to archived feed later, and take some stills to show Merlin just how adorable he looked.

"I'll fetch us drinks, shall I?" Harry offered. He went to the bar, flirted with the bartender a little like one was suppose to, and ordered a White Russian for himself, heavily implying it was similar to his taste in men. The bartender rolled his eyes.

Two drinks in hand, Harry stopped on his return to the table when he saw that Merlin was no longer alone. A skinny blond with a spray tan and cropped mesh shirt was sat in Harry's chair and leaning awfully close to Merlin who apparently couldn't even pretend to be interested in his company.

All the same, Harry felt a rush of ire. How rude and presumptuous could a man (a boy really on closer inspection) be to try it on with someone who came into a club on another man's arm?

Harry stepped closer and cleared his throat. "I believe that's mine."

The blond turned and gave Harry an once-over. "Well, if you leave your things unattended, they're bound to be taken by someone else."

Harry opened his mouth to deliver a pithy retort, but Merlin got there first. "Excuse me, but I'm not a five pound note you can claim 'finder's keepers' on!"

"All right, princess. I can take a hint!"

"Apparently only after you've been hit with it like a hammer to the face," Harry muttered under his breath, as the boy slinked away, looking for his own kind of target.

Gawain sighed over the comms at the same time Merlin did over the bright drink Harry set in front of him. "You gentlemen do know what it means to mingle, yes? How are we suppose to gain intel if you chase people away?"

"The only thing he looked like he knew was where to get the cheapest spray-on tan."

Merlin took a sip of his drink and immediately screwed his face up in disgust. He pressed a hand against his mouth. "What the heck is that? It tastes like I just ate a bowl of sugar soaked in gin!"

Harry chuckled into his beer. "Sweets to the sweet." Merlin's utterly unladylike gesture sent Harry into further laughter.

Gawain sighed, long-suffering. "Focus, gentlemen."

"Just establishing our covers as a couple of friends looking for a bit of fun," Harry reassured him.

"Hello! You're new here, aren't you?" Harry looked up at a young woman- correction: queen- leaning against their table. She smiled as she looked between them. "I have a nose for fresh _meat,_ " she said with a wink. She turned her back to them and waved a bangle-laden arm. "Cherie! Told you I spotted a new girl!"

A more mature queen in a glittery gown that looked like it belonged on Joan Collins glided over. She introduced herself as Cherie Poppins, manager of the club. The younger queen in the Tina Turner wig was called Sheba. Harry was feeling a touch annoyed that the introductions were all made directly at Merlin, Harry being ignored.

"What's your name, love?" Cherie asked Merlin.

"Morgan. As in le Fay." Merlin had been so pleased with himself when choosing his drag name.

"Aren't you just," Cherie replied. She took Merlin's chin between long-nailed fingers and tilted his head, examining him from all angles. She clicked her tongue. "Come with me, love." And with strong arms, she pulled Merlin to his feet.

"Yes!" Gawain crowed. "Go! Talk to people like you're bloody well suppose to be."

Cherie's eyes finally slid to Harry as he made to stand, too. "Girl talk. You understand." She disappeared with Sheba and Merlin behind a door marked for staff only.

"Looks like a dressing room," Gawain reported. "Two men, besides Cherie and Sheba, inside wearing nylon caps and brassieres."

"How's the view in there?" Harry asked Gawain, keeping eying the closed door.

"Great angle for lots of tits. Shame none of its real."

Harry sat back down, the noise from Merlin's comms was a cacophony of voices. "This is your first time out in public isn't it?" One asked.

"Is it that obvious?" asked Merlin, meekly.

"Well, your brows don't exactly match and you need to work on your blending. But don't worry, we're here to help with that."

As they adjusted Merlin's makeup, which rankled Harry who thought his efforts had been perfectly adequate, thank you very much, they asked him questions about where he was from, what brought him to London.

Merlin played up his cover story well, using his unfamiliarity and discomfort in his clothes to his advantage. Yes, it was his first time being in drag in public, he confessed. They cooed and swore in sympathy as he talked about the small, oppressive Scottish village and equally oppressive parents he had run away from.

"You have a place to stay?" It sounded like Sheba, asked.

"My friend I'm with. Loaning me his sofa."

There was more maternal clucking. "We should introduce her to Vy! He'd look after her."

"Vy?"

Harry's eyes, that had been continuously scanning the club as he half-listened to the conversation, snapped back to the dressing room door. Even Gawain had made a small noise of recognition.

"A regular here," Cherie explained. "Russian, I think. Or Ukrainian. I don't know. Likes to spend money on pretty faces, and yours is a picture. Sheba, show her the bracelet he gave you last summer."

Gawain whistled. "Two inches wide, all diamonds," he described for Harry's benefit.

"Hello, sailor," said a voice in Harry's ear that definitely wasn't Gawain. "Fancy a dance?"

Harry turned his head and nearly bumped noses with a familiar blond boy. Harry frowned at him. "Weren't you after my friend not five minutes ago?"

The boy blinked, then grinned lazily. "Oh, yeah! He's not here now. You are, handsome!"

"Pardon me for asking, but are you currently on some kind of illegal substance?"

"So?"

"Please go somewhere else. Preferably the far side of the room."

The man took an indignant step away. "Think you're too good for me? Posh tosser!" He flashed Harry a pair of Vs and thankfully wandered away once again.  
  
"Your ten o'clock, Galahad," Gawain suddenly said.

Harry turned his head and saw who Gawain had spotted through the feeds first: A man with the face of a shaved gorilla stuffed into a suit finer than Harry's with a shiny purple cravat and diamond lapel pin. What really set him apart from the other clubbers were the two men in cheaper suits flanking him. Bodyguards. One of them must have been a new hire because he was trying too hard not to react to all the love-that-dare-not-speak-its-naming going on. The other brute, clearly having seen it all before, looked alert, but disinterested.

The bartender hustled out from behind the bar to shoo away the occupants of one table and give it a quick wipe-down as the burly trio made straight for it. The bartender scampered away to immediately return with presumably the rich-looking man's usual.

Harry finished his own drink and licked his teeth. "Very likely, I'd say. Should I engage?"

The man's head moved slowly on his thick neck, eyeing the room. As he landed on Harry, Harry tried on his best come-hither smile. The man didn't even linger and cast his gaze elsewhere.

Gawain snorted. "I guess you're not his type."

"I'm everyone's type," Harry scoffed.

Harry groaned as a movement of blond and orange crept its way to the newcomer's table. The seasoned bodyguard stepped in the boy's way, blocking him with an extended arm and shake of his head. Blond licked his lips, giving the guard a slow once over. The guard shook his head again and gave the boy a push on his chest. He pouted, but slinked away without argument.

The sound of a door opening and the change of flow in conversation from Merlin's end drew Harry's attention. He turned back around in their direction. He had to admit that Merlin's makeup was a lot better with real professional help. It looked like they even added glitter to the eyeshadow and longer lashes.

Cherie had a grip on Merlin's arm and a grin lit up her face. She leaned close to tell him, "It's your lucky night after all! Come on, I'll introduce you."

They swept past Harry's position. Merlin managed only the quickest look in his direction. Harry waited with baited breath and watched Cherie lead Merlin right to their person of interest. "Vy! Darling!" She greeted him.

Vyhovsky stood and embraced the club manager, and she gave him air kisses on both cheeks in return. The newer bodyguard was looking constipated.

Cherie pressed a hand on Merlin's lower back, pushing him forward. "Vy, this is Morgan. She's new to the city and in need protector. I thought of you immediately." Did everyone forget he arrived with another man? Was Harry so easily ignored in this place with the exception of one strung-out twink?

Vyhovsky looked Merlin over slowly with considerable interest. "Yes, we must take care of pretty things like you." His voice was deep and heavily accented.

Merlin. Fucking. Giggled.

"Come. Let us dance."

Merlin looked to Cherie who waved her arms in the universal "Go, go!" gesture. He didn't look back to Harry before (somehow even with their size and height) disappearing into the throng of dancers.

Once in the crowd, the music was so loud, there was no hearing the conversation through Merlin's comms.

"I need eyes on them, Galahad! All I'm seeing is purple silk."

Harry looked around, not having to do so long before spotting the orange-skinned boy lingering by the dance floor's edge, still eyeing up Vyhovsky's bodyguards (who had also moved to keep an eye on their boss. The older one was an unmovable mountain that forced everyone else to go around him. The younger one elbowed and pushed people out of his way).

Harry grabbed the kid's arm. "You still want a dance?" Harry had to shout over Depeche Mode.

"Yes, please!"

With a partner to make him look less conspicuous, Harry twisted and turned among the dancers until he had the clearest line of sight to Merlin he could get. Vyhovsky wasn't much a dancer, which was fine given that in the high heels Merlin could only manage an awkward shuffle and some hip swaying. The boy Harry dragged with him was hopping around in frantic circles. It reminded him of Mr Pickle when he begged for a treat.

Harry wished Merlin could just plant the tracker so they could leave. He managed to put himself in the appropriate proximity to do so, but alas Vychosky was the most covered man in the club. The only visible skin was his hands and above his collar. It was going to take something more than a little flirtatious groping to place the tracker someplace discreet.

After one more song, Sheba had took the stage and the music switched to "Time After Time" for her to lip-sync to. Many dancers left the floor, not caring for the slow ballads. Some couples remained though, Merlin and Vyhovsky among them. With the floor much clearer, Harry abandoned it and his partner who neither noticed Harry's retreat nor the change in tempo.

Vyhosky had Merlin pulled nearly fully against his front as they swayed to the music. Merlin's hands were settled chastely on the other man's large shoulders. His demureness seemed to amuse Vyhovsky who muttered "So shy" against Merlin's ear as he slid a meaty hand into Merlin's jacket. He started caressing Merlin's collarbone gently with his thumb. Merlin's breath stuttered, audible now over the gentle song.

Harry felt a heat that had nothing to do with the mass of sweaty bodies in a poorly ventilated room. And he knew, _knew_ , his feelings were inappropriate, distracting, threatening to compromise the mission if he couldn't keep them in check.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Vyhovsky's voice asked through Merlin's earring. "He looks unhappy."

Merlin looked Harry's way, bright orange hair brushing over his shoulder, and made eye contact. " _Not_ my boyfriend."

Which was nothing but the absolute truth and yet sent an ice pick-sized stab in Harry's heart which _Shit. Fuck. Dammit. You're gone, Harry, m'boy. It's over._ He almost wanted to tell Gawain he had to abort the mission. He had been compromised and how.

But no, he was a goddamned professional, a Kingsman, and could behave like one. He could tamp down on unwanted emotions like a proper English gentleman. He would not give into the urge to storm over there, grab Merlin, and declare his intentions through acts too obscene for the already off-color establishment.

"Then he won't mind if we take this to private room." Vyhovsky's hand had slid from Merlin's chest down to his waist. "I am VIP."

Merlin smiled coquettishly and nodded. With that, Vyhovsky took a firmer grip on Merlin and walked them off the dance floor. His bodyguards followed. Harry made to do so as well, until one of the guards caught him at it, and gave Harry a silent warning to stay put with a significant glare and a finger passing over his throat.

The foursome went up a metal staircase to a short open hallway where a row of doors marked "Private" were accessible. Vyhovsky pulled a key from his jacket pocket and handed it to the younger guard. He opened the door and cleared the room. With a nod, everyone entered.

"Red velvet sofa. Of course there is," Gawain said. Suddenly he swore over the earpiece. "Lost visual. He must've taken the jacket off and thrown it on the floor."

Harry's heart picked up speed.

They still had audio, though. "Much more comfortable, yes?" Came Vyhovsky's voice, an intimate murmur.

Merlin didn't agree vocally. The next sounds were rustling of fabric, and the creak of springs. Harry held his breath.

The next noises were not so gentle. Someone cried out (not Merlin, Harry immediately told himself), then a gunshot.

"Get in there now, Galahad!" Gawain unnecessarily demanded as Harry was already across the dance floor and leaping up the stairs. He kicked the private room's door in, gun drawn.

To find Merlin standing in the middle of the room, picking up his little jacket, bending awkwardly as he was only wearing one shoe. Otherwise, his clothes and wig were in perfect, tidy condition. Ever a Kingsman, even in fluffy skirt.

Harry closed the door behind him and holstered his gun. The commotion had been completely covered by the Blondie song Sheba had switched to, but better to keep as many curious eyes out as possible.

The three men that had lead Merlin away were all lying prone. One bodyguard had a bullet hole dead center of his forehead. The other had a stiletto heel in his eye. Vyhovsky was sprawled out on the sofa.

"We needed him alive, Merlin!" Gawain nearly screeched.

"He is," Merlin replied, wiggling the finger with his signet ring in front of Harry's face. "He was getting rather fresh. His hand made it too far up my skirt and this one," he nodded to the bodyguard with the bullet in his head, "spotted the pistol I was packing. The _other_ pistol," he emphasized at Harry's raised brows, "and drew his weapon."

Harry snorted. He tried to shake away and not let himself get upset over the image of Vyhovsky's pudgy paw sliding up Merlin's thigh. He twisted his watch and sank an amnesia dart in his neck for good measure. No need for him trying to hunt down the pretty queen who took his men out so easily. Let him assume one of his no doubt many enemies caught up with him. It may affect the sales meeting he had been planning, but if the tracker worked as it was suppose to... Speaking of-

Merlin hobbled over, bloodied shoe in one hand and took Harry's pocket square without even asking. Harry voiced a protest as Merlin used it to clean his shoe-cum-weapon off. After slipping the shoe back on, Merlin adroitly refolded the fabric so that the stains didn't show and stuffed it back into Harry's pocket, giving it a little pat. Merlin, quite deservedly, gave him a smug smirk.

Harry considered kissing it right off.

Merlin slipped the tracker out of its hiding place down the front of his bodice. With Harry's help, he undid Vyhovsky's shirt just enough to stick the clear square just around the curve of his back ribs, a place it would hopefully go unnoticed for some time.

"We're getting a signal," Gawain said. "Now get yourselves out of there before he wakes up."

"On our way," Harry confirmed.

The main floor of the club was underground, so the room's blacked-out window opened not far above the street. Harry hopped out first and turned, offering a hand to Merlin who was not quite as coordinated. "Piss off," he grumbled, dropping to the ground with a slight stumble.

Harry steadied him with an arm around his waist, and didn't remove it as they started down the sidewalk, looking like a perfectly normal couple (for that neighbourhood anyway) making their way home after a night out. A couple blocks down, a black Kingsman taxi was idling. Harry and Merlin slipped inside.

"Good job, gentleman," Gawain said. "We'll debrief in the morning, see how well your new tech does in the mean time. Turning feed off now. Have a good night."

"Thank God for that," Merlin sighed, taking his shoes off and wiggling his toes in relief.

"Home, James," Harry told the driver.

===  
  
Merlin refused to put the shoes back on, and trod barefoot to Harry's front door. Mr Pickle was right inside to greet to them, but Merlin ignored him in favor of going straight to the guest room. Harry scooped Mr Pickle up for a proper hello cuddle, then went to his own room to change into a fresh shirt and trousers.

The guest room door was open, so Harry went in. The bed had every piece of clothing Merlin had been wearing, plus the wig, tossed on top of it. And on top of all that Mr Pickle had curled up and was fast asleep. Harry knocked on the closed bathroom door, opening it only when Merlin gave him permission to enter.

Harry immediately wish he hadn't, confronted with Merlin in naught but his striped boxers, standing in front of the sink, scrubbing a flannel over his chest. Harry's eyes were drawn to the rivulets of water that trailed down Merlin's chest and over the flat planes of his stomach to soak into the band of his shorts.

"Is that for me?" Merlin asked, Harry blinked away the moment's panic that his interest was making itself known, and remembered the container in his hand. "Yes. Cold cream. Helps remove makeup."

"Cheers." The word was muffled from Merlin swiping the flannel over his mouth to rid it of bright red lipstick.

Harry leaned against the counter, back to the mirror. He crossed his arms and bowed his head. He weighed his thoughts and feelings, considered his words carefully. He briefly wondered if he should bother saying anything at all, but that smacked of cowardice, which was abhorrent. And he owed it to Merlin to be honest, let him know his judgment has been compromised and let the other man decide where to take their professional relationship from there.

"I didn't like it," Harry confessed finally. Merlin hummed questioningly. "The mission," he clarified.

"I suppose it wasn't exactly the sort of exciting, action-packed, international missions you prefer. But even smaller assignments like these are important."

"It's not that. I didn't like... I didn't like those people touching you."

"Touching your handiwork you mean. I knew you wouldn't like hearing those queens insult your brush skills."

"Are you purposefully misunderstanding me? If so, it's rather aggravating."

Merlin sighed and washed the cold cream off his hands. "I think you let yourself get confused because you liked the way I looked in a frock." Merlin was looking in the mirror, but avoiding Harry's eyes in the reflection.

Harry's fingers curled into his palms. "Sod, the frock! I'm not like those other men who wanted the tarted-up, shy boy. You're amazing, and none of them knew that and didn't deserve you. I want the real you, always have, just as you are!" Harry didn't mean to start shouting. When he realized he had been, he closed his mouth in an audible click, and kept it shut as he awaited Merlin's response.

Merlin was staring at him, half his face now bare, the other still covered in translucent cream. "You really were jealous?"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed again. "Yes. To the point where it could have been detrimental to the mission. I thought you should know, so that when I put in a request to never work with you in the field again, you don't take it personally."

"Well, I bloody am going to take it personally." Harry tried to protest, but Merlin held up a hand. "How often have I provided you with remote technical support? How often have I had to watch you flirt and charm your way across the continents? And if I can reign in my jealousy enough, like a bloody professional, so can you, _Galahad_." He continued removing the make-up with extra vigor and muttering "Can't believe I let you put glue in my eyebrows."

Harry watched him finish his ablutions. Harry reached out a hand and cupped Merlin's face, pink from the scrubbing, the slightest hint of stubble growing back, prickling his palm.

Merlin closed his eyes briefly, opening them, they immediately flickered to Harry's mouth. Before he knew it (so much for legendary reflexes), Merlin had Harry pressed against him, lips, chest, and hips. The wall was hard against his back. And for the first time, Harry's hands were allowed to touch Merlin's skin and body the way they had been aching to since the start of the night. They glided over smooth shoulders, down his lean chest, fingertips catching on tight nipples, forcing Merlin's lips apart in a gasp.

Harry took advantage, delving his tongue into the wet heat of Merlin's mouth. Merlin groaned. His long fingers smoothed down Harry's back, ending with a firm grip on Harry's arse. Harry to tear his mouth away from Merlin's to not only to recover the sudden lack of air in his lungs, but to demand, "Bed. Now."

Mr Pickle's sleep was very rudely interrupted.

===

The harsh ringing of the telephone awoke Harry from a most deep and pleasant sleep. He swore profusely, fumbling around, squinting in the morning light, just trying to make it stop. He had to half-sprawl over Merlin's back (who had pillow shoved firmly over his head) to finally knock the phone off the receiver.

"Harry? Harry, dammit, where the bloody hell are you!?" Came Gawain's tinny shouting.

Harry's swearing increased in blueness. "Yes, hello. What?" He managed, getting the phone properly in hand.

"You're late for the debriefing! Which isn't surprising for you, but Merlin hasn't arrived either. Arthur's furious, and is starting to make suggestions you've gone and corrupted the poor boy!"

"Ehrm..." Harry said intelligently as Merlin shifted beneath him.

Merlin tossed his pillow aside. "Tell him I'm not a boy, and was already corrupted."

"Merlin says-"

"I heard!" Gawain groused. "You're lucky the new tech is working like a charm. Arthur may be persuaded to be in a less disciplinary mood if you put some damn clothes on and get to the shop in less than thirty." The line clicked.

Harry left the phone off the hook, letting it dangle from its chord off the bedside table. "Sorry, I got you in trouble," he said into the dip between Merlin's shoulder blades.

Merlin let out a heavy breath. "I doubt it'll be the only time." He sounded resigned, but cheerfully so.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Track Listing:
> 
> David Bowie - Fashion  
> Billy Idol - Rebel Yell  
> Duran Duran - The Reflex  
> Madonna - Dress You Up  
> Genesis - Invisible Touch  
> Depeche Mode - A Question of Time  
> Cyndi Lauper - Time after Time  
> Blondie - Call Me  
> Baltimora - Tarzan Boy


End file.
